


Boy at the Station

by TheRealRedRaven



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bang Chan is Whipped, Bang Chan is a Good Friend, Bang Chan is a Sweetheart, Barista Bang Chan, Baristas, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Daddy Kink, Declarations Of Love, Developing Friendships, Dom Bang Chan, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Forehead Kisses, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gentle Kissing, Gratuitous Smut, Humor, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Male-Female Friendship, Neck Kissing, Porn, Porn With Plot, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Gestures, Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some Humor, Top Bang Chan, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealRedRaven/pseuds/TheRealRedRaven
Summary: There are many occasions for paths to intertwine, especially at a train station in a wee cafe run by a charming barista who has become a cherished friend. However, a new dress forms the key to unlocking what has been floating beneath the amiable surface.The black wolf within.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Reader, Bang Chan & You, Bang Chan/Reader, Bang Chan/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Boy at the Station

‘Sure, just throw the door in my face like that!’

Everyone has their own little safe haven in a city, be it in bookstores, the library, a particular type of shop or a café. In this case, however, a friendly meeting has situated itself at the commonplace where multiple roads cross and paths unavoidably intertwine. It is a wee establishment that has not opened that long ago at the side of the tracks beneath the intricate glass roof of the station, where a small band of friends finds themselves once more, meeting only to later split up by going to the correct tracks to be taken home.

But not before playfully threatening Mel, the soldier in training. Although, a big smile nullifies any sense of feigned indignation when cramming through the small entryway of  _ Black Wolf Coffee _ . ‘I basically raised you, young lady! Here I was, trying to be nice and buy you a coffee. Guess not.’

Much to the delight of the owner of the cosily decorated establishment, a boyish bubbly chuckle resonating behind the bright alabaster richly filled counter which rises in volume again after being subdued for a wee bit during the sorting out of the never-changing order.

‘Alright, lads, do we know what we want?’ The casually spoken agreements confirm the habitual recipe has not been changed once again. All it has lead to is the unconscious stance as if trying to calm a group of animals in order to save oneself from being attacked, which would mean another discussion filled with stress due to the amount of choice among the beverages the café serves.

‘We’ll look for a spot to sit.’ Tess, a spry spirit of a lass and the momma bear of our little band, points over the shoulder at the empty window seats before turning around and taking the youngest with her.

‘Hey.’ A sarcastic eyebrow rises automatically at the sight of a fist hardly succeeding in muffling a most adorable giggle. Nevertheless, while the heart flutters at the sound, voice is skeptical when inquiring. ‘Chan, what’s so funny?’

A shaky sigh steadies composure slightly, though it remains giggly and hardly professional. ‘Just the way you are with your friends.’

Precisely the way the barista has been ever since opening  _ Black Wolf Coffee _ , always relaxed and cheerful towards customers. Seemingly even more so to the girl who finds herself here daily, showing an odd sort of friendliness hinting at a closer sense of intimacy normally found among long-time friends and companions. Time and again it has become curiously obvious, sitting down by default on the beige pillow next to the paisley one in the window seat when coming in thanks to a missed train. The first time it happened, we sat side by side, sharing one set of earphones between two faces because Chris asked whether it would be alright if he were to suggest some songs after a bit of small talk and plainly asking why the barista suddenly decided to lend company to a customer.

‘Because you look like you could use some. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?’ The worry in irises as magnificently brown as pure molten chocolate was genuine, never having changed once. Even in later days, when fussing over health upon visiting after having walked in the rain without an umbrella.

Unfortunately, business always has to go on so our music session were repeatedly broken up to serve a new visitor. However, Chan, as the lively lad introduced himself - followed by some playful suggestions for nicknames to call him besides his full name - came back as fast as possible to pick up where we left off.

‘Can I see you again? I mean,’ that characteristic low chuckle and awkward rub of the back of the neck at the first goodbye has never been erased from memory, ‘I’d like you to drop by soon. Only if you want to, of course.’

‘I will, definitely. After all, how can I pass up good coffee?’ The hopeful expression faltered a bit at the remark, happiness dimming at being seen as nothing but a barista serving a proper cup of black gold. Nevertheless, it brightened immediately afterwards for there were yet coy words left unspoken. ‘And the time to listen to music in good company?’

‘I’d walk with you to the tracks, Y/N, but, you know, the business...’

‘It’s alright, Chris. I’ll perfectly manage. But I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’ Demeanour heartwarmingly changed into that of a human puppy at the notice of visiting again the next day. Plush lips parted slightly but remained silent, although they clearly wanted to say something in rejoicing as sparkling eyes widened. 

‘Yeah, I have to be in the city for my morning lecture.’

‘That’s great! I mean, not the morning lecture, but, ah, well-’

‘I get you. I really have to go now or I’ll miss this train as well.’ One step out the door, a proposal came forth without a thought and forms the reason for the great amount of time spent in the window of the small establishment until now. ‘But I could stay a little longer next time?’

‘I’d like that!’

The shout from the entryway dimmed into inaudible mumbling though the words ‘’please do’’ seemed to be formed by a coffee tongue.

This has been the manner in which the friendship has developed after, indeed, staying longer the day after and exchanging numbers. After all, the apparent café vlogger always wants to know the first reaction to a newly uploaded video showing the daily life of a barista when not showing how to make certain cakes and other pastries. Moreover, mocha locks are too impatient to wait for a comment in the designated section, thus preferring to immediately ask feedback from a known supporter, as was revealed during the second meeting.

The same woman who cannot help but be playful around the boy who has wonderfully become more than a mere business-like acquaintance, a person merely providing black gold. ‘I know, I’m a great comedian.’

‘Can’t deny that.’ The response is nostalgic, recalling the days when not feeling his best, the world too heavy and exhausting yet required to open the doors of the wee establishment in the station and put up a show for the camera. 

During those moments, bad attempts at humour were, fortunately, mostly successful, a sign of achieving a sliver of happiness found in the low appreciative chuckle regardless of the joke being funny or not. And when not trying to fool around, a small palm rubbed a broad back as a black beanie rested on the shoulder with closed eyes. Nothing is perfect all the time and sometimes people always cheering others on need to be comforted as well, which is one of the most important duties of a friend. 

‘Shut up, you.’ A gentle smile forms at reading the mind behind the counter and remembering those periods of mental hardship too. Vividly, for reality hit quite hard again recently but the impact could be soothed a tad in the habitual manner of sitting by the window with music and a warm beverage, rubbing tense back muscles until they tangibly relaxed. ‘Anyway, can I get a hazelnut latte, a caramel macchiato and a... a...’

‘Hm?’ Hardly aware, slender fingers blatantly cup a very intimate spot as pearly white teeth bite down on the bottom lip in clear appreciation of the V-neck evidently revealing a wee bit too much. 

‘Chris.’ In spite of the odd sensation that is not quite appreciation nor aversion, the name of the barista comes out fairly chastising. At least enough so to make a point and end all perverse reverie that makes the temperature of a cool exterior fiercely rise. ‘And an iced americano?’

‘Uh, sure.’ Dark neatly trimmed brows, of which one has been shaven in half, furrow as if having trouble adjusting to the reality after waking from a dream. However, soon the realization of what is clutched and how it might come across dawns, evoking a pink glow over the pale cheeks of lashes flitting around the kitchen in shame. ‘You, ahm, you look really pretty in that dress.’

‘Tha- Thanks.’ Unintentionally, or perhaps so, crossed arms boost up the secret element of pride which accidentally ends in revealing the top of the novel ivory push-up bra.

Flustered and speechless, the onyx and fuchsia flowery dress is swiftly corrected while fleeing to the companions having reserved a place on the windowsill. In the background, the soft almost moaned curses cannot be ignored nor can the adorable displays of clear regret be, Chris inaudibly mumbling while trying to avoid any eye contact and doing so when scribbling something onto a napkin. The sweetheart even hesitates to bring the order himself, likely daunted by the futile efforts to cover up the chest area as much as possible while having conversations with friends. Notwithstanding, as sneaky glances are stolen to observe the barista from afar, a sense of pride refuses to be suppressed, secretly floundering its profoundness at having caught the young man’s attention in the manner it has.

And catches it once again when mocha locks dare, at last, to approach our little band of three. ‘Uhm, here’s your order. An iced americano, hazelnut latte and caramel macchiato, right?’

‘That’s correct.’ Before any of the other lasses can speak up, the casual response comes out on a whim as if what happened a mere moment ago has never taken place.

Nevertheless, the barista is not as good at covering up the lingering awkwardness as the girl by the window, educated in the ways of camouflage by social anxiety in big cities. Henceforth, dark sneakers flee to the counter after a vague thumbs-up and mumbled “cool”.

‘Y/N, I think he likes you~’ Mel nudges the upper arm with a grin like The Cheshire Cat, giggling at the ungrounded deduced conclusion.

‘He doesn’t, he just likes my boobs.’ A scoff nullifies the teasing comment for there are no romantic feelings, merely racing hormones. 

‘Among things.’ The stoic remark over a sip of hazelnut latte is met by another lowly mumbled insult, which is disregarded by motherly long dark chocolate strands. ‘Y/N, from what you’ve told us, I think Mel’s right.’

‘We’re just friends.’ That was supposed to be the end of the topic, but it would appear the ink on the piece of paper beside the cool beverage forms the continuation of it. ‘Oh.’

_ I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to stare. Let me make it up to you with coffee and a piece of cake. Maybe after closing? Will you stay a little longer? _

‘What’s up?’ Tess leans forward, interested in what the yet undiscovered words put upon the windowpane are. 

‘Nothing.’

‘He wrote something on her napkin!’ The dismissal fails to actually be dismissed for enthusiastic spry wavy blonde strands reach for the message as fast as lightning, noticing the ink. 

‘Mel, shush! Not the whole café needs to hear our conversation.’ There is no use in trying to get the piece of paper back, but there certainly is in scolding the raise of volume in the way a mother would a daughter. Or, rather, how an older sister would her junior since that is a better definition of the friendship. 

‘Sorry, but it’s so cute.’ Amiable eyes endeavour to look apologetic though the fawning of ruby red lips contrasts with the feigned sentiment of remorse. 

And cannot be disagreed with as gaze locks with the buff barista looking like a kicked puppy. A hurt soul who cheers up rapidly when noticing the nod agreeing to remain until closing time, troubled expression brightening with an equally joyous smile. ‘Yeah. Yeah, it is. Also, lads, it would seem you’ll have to go home without me.’

‘What? Why?’ Mellissa passes the napkin on to the momma bear of the group, basically bouncing in anticipation of sharing the knowledge of what mayhaps should have remained private. Withal, it has not, for now the splendid company also knows of the proposal, Tess nodding sagely after reading the scribbled text. ‘Ah, I see. Well, I can’t blame you.’

The youngster of the wee band is not done playing the mischievous devil, having yet another smug remark to make. ‘Maybe Y/N will finally get a boyfriend.’

‘Mel.’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up and drink your coffee.’ To put an example forward, a sip is taken of the cold Americano which holds the perfect middle between bitterness and sweetness. Exactly how it is preferred.

Made by him. 

‘Sorry, mom.’ The gesture is mimicked, the warm beverage shutting the girl who is like a little sister up for a blissful second. 

Which is ruined by one’s own odd sense of correction when it comes to titles within the family we have created together. ‘It’s dad. Tess is the mom.’

‘Sorry, dad.’

‘Daddy.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

But Chris has clearly heard the word, bearing an indescribable expression that cannot be observed long enough to decipher.

The bean grinder disturbs the low-fi atmosphere, intruding like the screeching of the trains outside.

***

As the day passes, the sunlight falling in through the ornate glass dome gradually dims until it vanishes entirely and is replaced by the artificial lights of the station. Customers become fewer and fewer until, at five o’clock, nobody but the girl by the window and ink-black beanie behind the counter are left.

‘Y/N, about what happened, I didn’t-’ Chris barely leaves room for a comfortable hush to cloak the café and let Ed Sheeran play in the background, moving from behind the counter to the window seat but coming to a halt midway. 

Because nonchalant steps meet the buff onyx oversized sweater halfway and make him stop in his tracks, entirely gobsmacked at a paradoxical offer. ‘Do you need help? Shall I close the blinds?’

Plush lips part in incomprehension, brows of which one is severed knitting together in confusion. Speech is rapid, wonderful eyes almost as black as night yet truthfully a very deep brown searching for a reason for the odd request in a kind gaze. ‘But what about-’

‘Chris, it doesn’t matter.’ Unconsciously, a well-meaning palm wraps around the soft though coarse fabric of the sleeve and squeezes the tense hard muscles slightly in assurance. ‘I forgive you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’

‘I suppose not.’ Broad shoulders lower in relief as a delighted sigh is followed by a low chuckle that calms the mutual nerves standing on edge. After all, gripping the barista’s clothing could have been seen as too intimate just like the closeness after what transpired earlier today. Apparently, however, it is not because the touch is tolerated by forgiven lightly blushing cheeks trying to play it cool, feigning to shake off a funny thought with a headshake. 

Nonetheless, the intent does not pass unnoticed and arouses a curiosity to be satisfied. In fact, it would be a lie to say a similar thoughtful giggle in days past has not given fuel to the desire to know what goes on in the lad’s mind. Now, with no disturbances around, it is the perfect moment to enquire about it. ‘Why are you laughing?’

Black sneakers rub the linoleum floor timidly, soft-spoken lashes averting and barely daring to make contact again. ‘Because I might have imagined what it’s like to close the café together.’

‘You- You think of me?’

‘Yes.’

‘How often?’

‘A lot.’

‘When?’

‘All the time.’

‘As a friend?’ The tables turn as the confidence of the curt though sincere responses makes the heart race, flustered at the blatant confession. The barista’s attention turns further downwards to where a hand gently tugs on the big sweater, wanting its amiable warmth closer. ‘Or more?’

‘More.’ Finally, deep pure chocolate eyes look up again, cheeks flushed an adorable rosy hue. Ears, however, burn with a warm crimson that betrays the embarrassment of confessing in this manner. ‘Definitely more.’

Withal, a part of timid awkwardness also overtakes personal attitude when hinting towards the mention of a certain title earlier in the day. After all, it might be too straightforward of a suggestion regardless of listening to The Weeknd together. ‘You looked kinda weird when I mentioned the word  _ daddy _ earlier.’

There is no response as the topic changes in an instant without a clear bridge. The only clue the original intent has been understood lies in the breath that gets caught in the throat and the sensual undertone when asking something completely normal. A calloused thumb brushes over the lower lip while its counterparts hold the chin in place, daringly pressing down yet chastely remaining on the edge to taunt one’s own temptation as well. ‘What do you want, Y/N?’ 

Just as the digit is about to be enveloped by lips, the whistle of one of the trains violently disrupts the perverse haze. Any point of contact is abandoned, the chill of the empty café cooling the warmth of every former touch. Nevertheless, part of the heat returns in a more chaste fashion when the boy in the dark beanie laughs in a slightly embarrassed dorky manner. ‘Coffee-wise, I mean. Cake-wise as well.’

‘Oh, uhm.’ The equally sheepish demeanour betrays being just as composed as the café vlogger, which is hardly at all. Flustered lashes still under the influence of the show of dominance glance at the menu on the blackboard behind the counter, settling for the first thing they find. ‘A vanilla latte would be nice. Maybe we could also share a piece of vanilla latte cake?’

‘A vanilla girl.’

‘What can I say? I’m innocent.’ A playful wink makes the bad joke a tad funnier.

Although the humour bypasses Chris, who reads between the lines and knows the former intimacy is still as vivid in the mind standing a mere centimetre away as it is in his. ‘And yet you call me-’ 

The darkness of deep brown irises dies away with the rest of the sentence, gaze averted to the side to hide any signs that might tell of how it should have ended. Withal, enough has been said to finish it regardless and it leaves behind a feeling of paleness as all heat flees to the cheeks. ‘Right. The blinds. Can you lower them? And lock the door? I’ll make the coffee and get the... the cake.’

Temporarily, the events leading to unexpected sensuality are forgotten as the establishment is properly closed off to the public. While figuring out the locks and strings of the blinds, the whirring of the bean grinder and espresso machine are dominant in the background and form the music of a good coffee shop alongside the mellow tunes from a carefully handpicked playlist. By the time the place is locked up and a seat is taken at the table for two against the wall, the fragrant perfectly brewed coffee and sweet cake to share have been prepared.

‘Are you going to sit down?’ Instead of bringing the beverages and food to the table, Chan remains behind the counter. Oh, a penny for the thoughts to be had by mocha locks. 

‘No.’ Ink black sneakers come into motion, extending a hand when coming to a halt beside the chair a seat has been taken upon.

Fingers envelop the outstretched palm, using it as leverage while getting up. A strange grin forms on plush roseate lips, a mischievous devil overtaking demeanour. ‘Because I know a better place to sit. The best spot in the café.’

‘Pretty damn sure that’s my spot by the window.’ Willingly, flats are lead to the kitchen even though they would rather sit where they normally do. After all, that is essentially where the story began and has been written since the first word.

The first comment on the first vlog.

The first true hello.

All of it has brought the two pens here, regretting absolutely nothing.

Eager for more chapters. 

‘That one’s good too, but this one,’ with ease, feet are swept off the ground with a surprised squeak and put on the counter after an effortless twirl, ‘is the best.’

‘And why is that?’ With effort, equally coy legs remain bungling off the edge instead of wrapping around the waist clad in black. 

Two can play this game of push and pull. 

‘Because I get to look at you from up close.’ Locks partially obscuring vision are lovingly tucked behind the ear, a little tug on the pierced lobe melting the muscles with adorable playfulness. Unfortunately, the closeness does not last as mocha locks lean against the counter across, a faint smug grin playing on full lips. 

‘And fulfil a bit more of your fantasy of running a café together, I assume. Is that what you’d do every day, pick me up and put me on the counter like this?’ Remaining quiet, a sip is taken of the warm cocoa the barista has prepared for himself. Nevertheless, the brief spark of something darker alongside the bafflement of being caught red-handed gives the act away. ‘Even if I can get up here by myself?’

To prove that the statement is not mere bluff, palms are placed on either side on the wooden surface for support when getting off the piece of furniture.

And prove no help in getting back up.

One more try.

Yields nothing.

‘Do you need help?’

‘It’s fine, I just need more momentum. Hold on, this will be the one.’

It is not.

‘Babygirl,’ the nickname makes the heart skip a beat, staring in disbelief at the boy casually removing the onyx beanie that had been put on halfway through the shift, ‘do you need daddy’s- uhm, my help?’

The start of another futile attempt abruptly halts at once at the slip of the tongue. ‘So you did hear me?’

‘I did.’

One step forwards. 

‘Do you mind me calling you that?’

To close the distance. 

‘No.’ Slender digits glide over the cheek, cupping it and compelling a lock of gazes. The dominant aura of espresso eyes looking down fuels the heat below while simultaneously adding to the rising temperature in already burning cheeks. ‘Let’s stop playing this game, Y/N. We both know how we feel about each other.’

Lashes turned shy under the watch of the barista close at the cushiony sensation of cocoa lips crashing in, hands instinctively resting on their waist as thoughts melt away in the blessed microcosmos named  _ Black Wolf Coffee _ . The euphoria of the intimacy is intoxicating, unintentionally eliciting moans when woody vanilla and mint growls vibrate against the mouth as the dizziness overtakes Christopher too. Increases in effect when a palm firmly grabs the behind and squeezes it, making his name automatically come out on a content sigh.

Once more when a hardened shape presses against the thigh and touching it is rewarded by a lustrous breath cut short, the palm held in place as hips start to roll in the search for friction. 

‘Baby-’ The initiated pause is denied by pulling broad shoulders back into another kiss, primal instinct basking in the manly scent clad in basalt and the craving made obvious in a wonderfully beastly fashion. Unfortunately, a second endeavour at creating room for breathing succeeds, albeit with clear effort for there is enough time to give a coy squeeze that almost manages to make boundaries fade entirely. ‘Babygirl, we really should take it easy, take it slow.’ 

The distance shamefully grows, veined crossed arms leaning against the opposite counter again instead of keeping the smitten half-delirious soul standing two steps away warm. ‘I want more, I really do, but I think it’s better if we leave it at this. Although...’ Shamelessly, focus noticeably shifts to the bared skin of the rapidly rising and falling chest unable to regain composure just yet. Not that there is much hope of it to begin with when being blatantly scrutinized by Chris. ‘Although...’

The boy who constantly walks the thin line between the beast within and the boy at the station, snapping out of the dreams of one persona to fall into the other’s, makes a definite decision. ‘Yeah, it’s better.’ Smooth strands are pushed back as a deep breath is taken, restoring part of the innocence which hardly manages to remain when everyone is gone. ‘I know it’s unprofessional since I’m only a barista and we haven’t known each other that long, but I got you something.’ 

The self-degradation pulls on the strings of the heart, partially in pain at the dismissal of the mischievous game of push and pull and in part in fear of silently being deemed out of the lad’s league. ‘You’re more than just a barista, Chan. More than just some guy I know. Don’t think what just happened means nothing to me because I know it means something to you as well.’

‘Stop driving me crazy with your sweetness or I might just actually lose it.’

‘What will happen then?’

One step forward.

‘Will I get to see more of the animal inside?’

Another. 

Stopping a centimetre away from charming fresh mint intoxicatingly mixing with Italian lemon zest and green apple, firmly crossed arms unravelling once small palms pull them down to envelop the waist. 

Well, one hand does.

The other wanders lower, loving every curve before grabbing the behind unexpectedly possessively thus coaxing out a surprised gasp. ‘Yes, and I won’t be able to stop.’

Though the teasing attitude would deny being caught off-guard, grabbing the collar of the oversized onyx sweater and pulling it in until lips cannot help but brush past one another. ‘What if I don’t want you to?’

‘You clearly have no idea how much you turn me on,’ the hardened shape has evidently not calmed down, pressing hotly against the thigh once more with the same fierce longing, ‘how tempting your innocence and playfulness are to me.’

‘You said you got me something?’ Tempting as it is to give in, pick up where the sensual tale was left, toying with the barista is just as fun. Certainly when seeing the perverse irritation begging to be released burning bright in dominant espresso irises, fueled by the frustration of being kept on a leash yet knowing it is the right thing to do. 

‘You little minx.’ With a disgruntled though slightly amused growl, the sensuality is disappointedly nullified again as Chris moves to the coat rack in the kitchen to produce a wee jewellery box from the pocket of the leather jacket hanging on it. For a moment, there is a faint hesitation as the cube tumbles between slender digits, wondering timidly about something.

That eventually fades when presenting the thoughtful gift, opening the container as if presenting a ring to a beloved. ‘I came across this the other day and just had to think of you.’

Or, rather, a beautiful yet simple flame-painted copper necklace in the shape of a wolf’s head and a raven etched out in the beast’s neck.

‘It’s gorgeous.’ Breathless by the magnificence of the accessory, lashes looking up to stare into pure affection are immensely grateful for the incredibly sweet gesture. ‘Thank you.’

‘Turn around.’ Heeding the soft-spoken suggestion, flats turn around on the linoleum and hair is swept to the side to let the lover put the necklace on. However, when the barely audible noise of the click of the jewellery’s lock sounds, pale fingertips trace the outline of the neck before a palm glides over the throat. The expectation of squeezing fades since nothing happens although it conjures all sorts of wonderfully sinful images which rekindle the heat between the thighs.

‘Chris...’ Pressing into the broad chest of the coffee Eros, the unspoken proposal is presented of abandoning all games and let primal need win. The enveloping palm is kept in place by covering it with one’s own as the behind languidly moves against wanton craving, eliciting grunts and snarls betraying beastly impatience. 

Withal, the teasing demons formerly sheltered in the nooks of the café overtake both lovers as it are now coffee brown strands who toy with their mistress to test the ability of self-restraint. The string of the flowered folding dress comes undone with a simple tug, the bow easily unravelling as plush lips murmur into the crook of the neck. ‘Let Daddy see how it looks on you.’

Hardly sane, shoulders slowly turn to face a predatory expression clearly pleased with the addition of the accessory to the outfit. Leaning in as upper arms are lovingly rubbed, a tender kiss goes accompanied by a purred compliment ‘Gorgeous.’

But the touch of hands rises to the shoulders as the mouth travels lower over the jaw to the collar, gently sliding the dress down until it falls to the ground in a puddle of fabric and focus shifts to undoing the clasp of the ink-black push-up bra decorated with lace and a jewel between the cups. It soon joins the coverage on the floor, ruby-tinted ears lowering further onto their knees to worship the womanhood of flushed cheeks and grunting in pleasure of chocolate locks being petted as if they were a wolf’s fur. ‘But I prefer you looking like this.’

Delirium overtakes overwhelmed nerves more and more, intoxicated when a rosebud is suckled on while her sister is massaged or possessively groped with a beastly vibration in unintelligible speech. One such action halts midway, the spoken words fluttering among the ribs of a heart elevated by butterflies. ‘Shit, babygirl, you make me like a wolf on its rut.’

‘I- I like it, though. It’s hot, seeing you l- like this. You’re even more handsome.’ An indisputable truth for messy espresso strands partially obscuring darkened eyes have an alluring edge which is normally reduced by the sweetness of coffee friendship. Even then, the young man is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, magnificent inside and out with a caring personality that allows itself to be weak and seek comfort when needed. Who is there as a companion in the caffeinated air decorated with mellow tunes to sing along to, always looking out for the next meeting at the station. 

‘You like it? Like it when your man turns into an animal?’ Teeth sink into the side to create a wonderful personal brand, claiming ownership. ‘Is a little rough, manhandles you a bit?’

‘Y- Yes.’ The strength of speech is entirely lost in the whimper confirming the assumption, unable to muster the ability to speak more than a simple word. Nevertheless, and fortunately so, it can still create the most important syllable to undo all boundaries keeping us on friendly grounds. 

‘Then, can we go further than this? I know we haven’t known each other that long, but it feels as if we have.’ Pale knees lift themselves off the floor, using the waist as a point for support while rising and maintaining a lock of gazes. Foreheads rest against each other as voice softens, the sensual tension suppressed to ensure consent is given so that nothing might be done against one’s will. ‘If you don’t want to, it’s alright. I won’t hold it against you. Ever. I promise.’

Hands run up biceps clad in onyx, the fabric hiding them scented by fresh mint combined with the sweetness of green apple and clean tang of Italian lemon. The grip on the hips strengthens, the gesture evidently adding fuel to the flame while wanting to seriously patiently wait for mutual agreement. ‘Chris,’ awkwardly, the tights are shuffled out of and a big trusted palm brought to the edge of underwear decorated with a modern black and white graphic pattern, ‘you can rip them-’

The uncharacteristic boldness is rewarded with a breathtaking twang as the cheap bottoms are indeed savagely ripped off and the ruined garments join the pile on the floor. ‘Fuck.’

Slender marble digits come into action, unapologetically establishing an embarrassingly watery link between bodies barely drowned out by the pathetic mewling spilling from lips gasping for breath while clinging to broad shoulders. ‘I promise I’ll love you right, that this means something.’ Speech has malformed to intoxicating growling once more, baritone rumbling rising from deep within the throat. A wonderful sound to turn up in volume once the title spoken earlier arises blatantly instead of being ignored any longer. ‘Because you’re mine. You’re Daddy’s babygirl.’

The sloppy kiss says all there is left to say, the last words maddened by sin are snarled in the narrow space allowing for drawing breath and a shameful yet needed retreat from the edge of bliss. Though the spoken wish does not particularly help nor the beastly hasty removal of today’s dark outfit before faces are mere inches apart and the waist possessively held once more. ‘I want you. On every surface. Against the wall, the window. On the floor. Fucking everywhere.’

While the options are all equally wonderful, a tumbling tongue shyly voices the bold idea that comes forth now that fantasy can be turned into reality. ‘Ca- Can I ride you, th- though?’

‘How can I say no when you stammer like that?’ A predatory smile interrupts the kiss rewarding for allowing the chin to be lifted, wolfish chuckling also having thought of something perverse. ‘But how about we make your spot truly yours at the same time?’

‘How do you mean?’

Instead of answering, bare feet are led by the hand to the window-seat, where they are gently pulled onto muscled thighs solely left in night-shaded boxers unable to hide wanton throbbing from sight and held there by muscled arms initiating an intimate embrace. The bottom lip is caught between teeth, burning cheeks turning incredibly timid at the sight. The doubt of their personal ability to please steadily growing as well as the shame of being put into this position and acting upon thoughts formally suppressed at the closeness of Eros’s scent. 

‘Take my boxers off, Y/N.’ Trembling fingers reach out to the edge, slow and calculating as they blindly act while lashes barely maintain a lock of gazes with the handsome lover to estimate the degree of sensual satisfaction. ‘Good girl~’

‘Chris, I don’t know if... I mean, I- I want this, but, you’re, ahm, well-’ The aggravated sight below stirs up the storm of hesitation further, enhancing the hopeless puzzlement of the possibility at pleasing intimacy regardless of breathless heat. 

‘We can still stop. As I said, I won’t hold it against you.’ An affectionate hand rises over the bared spine to the left shoulder blade, letting the palm soothingly glide over skin, as the other glues chests together and hearts beat against one another yet are concerned for different reasons.

‘No, no. I- I wanna try. It’s just that I’m...’

‘You’re scared it might hurt?’ A barely noticeable nod affirms the assumption, clarifying the fear for the shadow side of physical love. ‘It might at first but we’ll take it easy. Nice and slow. If it’s still painful, we’ll stop, alright? I don’t want to hurt you nor force you to do anything you don’t want to.’

Nothing more needs to be uttered to give the courage to establish what has been wanted yet kept waiting via coy games. Languidly, the searing stretch is tried to be ignored as a new sense of fulfilment overwhelms the senses. Fortunately, there are sturdy guiding palms to prevent the expected agonizing discomfort, the touch calling attention to itself and the positives rather than the negative burn. ‘Easy, babygirl, easy. Slowly, yeah, ah, heh, that’s it.’

A shivering squeaky exhale is responded to with a quiet hum caught between relief and satisfaction, sinking further to bridge the last hot inch. ‘As I said, nice and slow.’

Once there is no distance left, galaxies collided in a mind-boggling fusion, a sweet kiss calls attention to the attentive mocha locks obviously checking for any signs of a reason to form separate milky ways again in watery eyes. ‘How does it feel?’

‘F- Full.’ Nails grip broad shoulders, the lover apparently not minding the sharpness of the indentations, too caught up in affectionately brushing stray tears away. The only signal of accidental hurt is a low grunt although the quicksilver smug grin witnessed from beneath half-lidded lashes suggests otherwise. A sudden twitch sends shivers throughout, the heaviness of the connection begging for a second of reprieve. ‘Need- Need a moment.’

‘Take all the time you need, babygirl. No rush.’ The back is lovingly rubbed once more, the sliver of a smirk fledging into its full splendour as the accented tongue gains a sensually teasing undertone. ‘But it feels good, doesn’t it, being filled by your man?’

‘Yes.’ The weak whimper comes out on the shock setting nerves on edge thanks to another unexpected yet addicting movement within, clutching Chan even tighter than before. ‘Feels really good.’ 

The stare of lust-darkened irises is kept as the waters are tested when the twitches have died down enough to allow for movement, rising and falling slowly in an intoxicating even rhythm of hollowness and fullness. ‘Is- Is this ok?’

‘Yes, more than ok, babygirl. I fucking love it.’ The young Eros leans in, meeting every advance so roughly the brief restoration of vocabulary is undone immediately and submissive mewling is the sole means of communication. ‘But ask it again. Properly this time.’

Luckily, enough sanity remains to ask clarification for the apparent mistake. All movement halts except for the lover’s, eyes blazing with the unseen reason for the chastising undertone of the remark. ‘Pro- Properly? Chris, what- Ah!’

Harshness sneaks into fierce attitude, hips no longer guided but blatantly pulled down to meet each snarling collision head-on. ‘You know what I mean. Speak to your man like you should.’

Click. 

‘Do- Do you like i- it, Daddy?’

‘That’s better. God, look at you, riding that big cock like the gorgeous needy little slut you are.’ The rapid peck flows over into a trail over the jaw and down the neck, plush lips ghosting over heated skin and transforming swift shallow kisses into marking brands as espresso locks are gripped tight, all muscles melted in the lava of the forcibly deepened passionate obsession. 

‘You drive me insane, dropping by daily, grm, turning me on by always showing just enough skin to make me want to rip your clothes off and, hrm, mhrm, fuck you in front of everyone.’ Through the snarling, a seductive melodic tone slips into speech finding itself in Eden, the garden where animal and man live in harmony and allows both to enjoy themselves. Chastely, strands obscuring momentarily open lashes are brushed aside and tucked behind the ear under a loving yet hypnotized longing gaze. ‘But who could blame me, hm? Who could blame me for wanting you?’

‘Y- You’d do that?’ Foreheads resting against one another, a trembling hand fascinated by the conjured imagery loosens its grip on a pale shoulder to shakily glide over the neck of a rapidly rising and falling chest and cup the left cheek. 

‘Yes, because I’m not a man, babygirl. If anything, you’re my beauty and I’m, grm,’ lips part in a silent scream as vision goes black in ecstasy when an uncharted depth is reached roughly, the last thing to be seen being the clenched jaw of the primal lover, ‘your beast.’

The energy to help in making milky ways mingle ebbs away fast as blank bliss overtakes, destroying each sense of coherency and reality as overstimulated senses fall limply into the tight embrace. The dark chuckle at the unintelligibly murmuring panting, however, resonates loudly in the ears nuzzling the neck of the young Eros. The sweet nothings remain that, nothings. For the capability of understanding is absent, although the registered cooing is just as nice. 

Unfortunately, it is solely one of us who has fallen into oblivion. 

And all is fair in love. 

So due to a need to please as well as be a proper mistress, a perchance stupid wish to persevere through another sort of agony is suggested by a barely sane tongue. ‘Chris, I- I can’t...’

‘It’s alright. Lie down and let Daddy do the work.’ The sweet swift kiss promises of true caring understanding, the back rapidly chilling with sweat warmed by coffee-scented affectionate palms. ‘You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?’

The lack of mention of the claimed title is not punished, instead being gently laid down after a brief awkward breaking of the bodily spell. Pillows from nearby seats are gathered and fluffed before being tenderly put to rest on them, slender pale fingers toying with dishevelled locks while slowly re-establishing the sensual Eden of connected souls. To prevent the worst of the trembling, one muscled veiny arm keeps the right thigh tightly against the waist. The other serves as support, continuing to play with hair to apologize in advance for exploiting sensitivity in order to gain primal bliss. Withal, the shivers become visible regardless via the palms clutching tense biceps and digging nails into flesh to still themselves. ‘Fuck, babygirl. I promise to be quick.’

‘D- Don’t be. I want it t- to feel good for you too. So- Ah!’ The dizzying depth from before is reached once more, growling advances ignoring the approval and frantic in their exploration of the narrowness. Whatever breath was regained is violently pushed out of the lungs again as the meek submissive tongue accelerates and shouts the first thoughts popping up in delirium. ‘Take the time you need! Fuck me how you want! I’m yours!’

‘You’re amazing, Y/N. But, ah, heh, grm, I know how painful overstimulation can be.’

‘But I want y- you to feel- feel good.’

‘And Daddy wants his babygirl to feel good, treat her right. Besides, I feel amazing whenever I’m with you.’ Focus shifts to where bodies meet, movements growing sharper under the attention of the hand firmly holding the whimpering thigh close. ‘So fucking good. Perfect. You’re perfect. Fit me so well, complete me.’ Lips meet once again in tenderness, Chris nodding in confirmation of the self-made statement. ‘Yeah. You complete me.’

Rejoicing in the grunted praise is cut short when the right spot to gaze at inner stars is touched over and over. Nails dig further into flexing shoulders moving smoothly, easily gliding towards the farthest reaches of pleasure. Legs start to shake in their dismissal of sensitive agony and focus on the primary insatiable craving ignited by the previously unknown spot, basalt brooks leaving salted trails behind. ‘Shit, Chris, right there!’

‘Yeah, right here? Is that where you need your man?’ The big nose often secretly fancied to boop or kiss simply because of its cuteness hides in the crook of the neck. Frantic beastly hips are no longer shallow, determined in their pursuit of ivory bliss and marking territory. ‘Where you need me to pound you raw, huh? Fuck you like the little slut you are for me?’

‘Yes! Fuck, yes!’

Fingertips move towards the broad back hardened by hours of exercise, unintentionally leaving bleeding scratches on pale skin. Notwithstanding, the accidental mutual branding elicits an animalistic appreciation, a deep low rumbling rising from the chest grown dewy and making the heart melt when it reverberates with the sound. 

‘Mark me, Y/N. Mark me so they know I’m yours, taken.’ Faces inches apart, heavy panting warms the intimate air in the little space between us. ‘Leave scratches. On my back, my neck, my arms. Everywhere, as many as you can.’ 

Hypnotized, fascinated by the almost pleading tone of the command, nails rake over the side of the young Eros’s throat, not too gentle in their touch to indeed leave visible traces which will betray to the public what has happened by the window. Nevertheless, Chan clearly does not care for the opinions of strangers in that regard, lashes fluttering shut with a satisfied predatory smile and purring when speaking. ‘Like that. I fucking love it when you do that.’

Foreheads come to rest against each other once more for the last time, as hellbent on reaching primal oblivion as the arm snaking underneath the lover’s arm to clutch a pale tense shoulder as its counterpart holds on tightly to strands the colour of pure chocolate. The scent of a romantic Italian holiday wants to be absorbed in every way possible, like the deep-reaching speedy advances that remain too disappointingly shallow. ‘Shit, you definitely make me like a wolf on its rut. Predatory, mhrm, possessive. Needing to claim what’s  _ mine _ .’

And still wonderfully satisfying like the growls spoken on sobbing lips overcome by pleasure and the affirmation of belonging. 

Feeling genuinely loved.

Enthralled by the desperate high pitch creeping into the lover’s voice, no longer able to refrain from tumbling into sinful oblivion. ‘That’s it. That’s Daddy’s girl. That’s Daddy’s beautiful girl. You’re gonna make me cum. You’re gonna make me cum!’

Instead of caressing, whining nails also dangerously bordering on a second fall accidentally scratch the chiselled cheek like marble. It cannot be helped, primality too hasty of mind to think of tenderness. ‘Cum inside me. Please, Chris, please!’

‘Don’t worry,’ a sloppy wolfish kiss briefly connects loving souls, ‘I will. I’ll fill you up.’

Snap. 

‘Shit!’

Simultaneously, the leash of Reality breaks and idyllic blinding overtakes sight. Sturdy muscled limbs grow limp and shivering in equally weak arms as hips slowly stop their roughness. Occasionally, breathing halts altogether as perverse gratefulness releases, satisfied humming creating a melody which does not match with “Tenerife Sea” playing vaguely in the background as wavy locks are caressed. ‘Wow.’

‘Indeed. Wow.’ Reason has not returned enough to elaborate on the simple statement, continuing to float in the afterglow of passionate obsession and the chasteness of lying across the window seats, cuddling. 

‘I hope I wasn’t too rough.’ With effort, the youth finds support in placing elbows on the wood on either side and equally dividing weight to remain steadily hovering. Earthly irises clearly search for any sort of damage, trying to be obscure in their search yet blatant in their manner of looking for answers. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you were amazing.’ As are the bruises and handprints on skin grabbed too tightly in the beastly chase.

‘You were too.’ This time, the kiss is sincere and romantic, devoid of any underlying meanings and filled with low exhausted chuckles. Solely focused on two people basking in happiness, the covert coffee romance of the train station. ‘Absolutely incredible. Breathtaking.’

The tranquillity of which is ashamedly cut off with a kiss on the forehead to distract from the uncomfortable mixture of leaking and hollowness, feeling abandoned by a part thought to be non-existent before. ‘Come on, let’s get up before you get a wooden spine.’

Like a gracious feline, the barista easily gets up and walks back to gather the discarded clothes. The attempt at standing up without support fails, knees giving way once feet have to carry all the weight of the body again while dealing with the sinful aftermath and thus clumsily falling back onto the cushions again.

‘Why are you still sitting there?’ Clothes in hand, Chris looks puzzled when glancing back towards where limbs refuse to move regardless of Spirit’s will. 

‘I can’t get up.’

‘How do you mean? Oh.’ A smug grin shapes itself when the implication of the remark dawns, tiny prideful lights dancing in eyes. ‘Was I that good?’

A mirror is not needed to know how crimson cheeks are, how timid the reluctantly speaking bottom lip caught between teeth must look. ‘Yes.’

A pleased boyish giggle while continuing to gather the outfits cluttering the kitchen slightly denotes the innocence of the caring remark following the confession. ‘You stay there then and I’ll help you dress.’

Uncaring about personal nudity, the tall buff barista returns after a few moments with a damp towel alongside the dress that was secretly put on for the exact purpose of driving the café vlogger to the verge of reasonable sanity, left tethering on the edge of maddening sensuality. 

Effectively so, evidently.

The cleansing cloth feels nice, cooling any lingering traces of heat originating in perversity as it glides over the body under the genuinely caring monitoring gaze of the lovable youth quietly humming along to “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. Once clean, big pale hands outstretched to act as points for support are gladly taken in one’s own as legs are kept standing on weak feet while fabric covers bare limbs and sticks to dewy though refreshed skin. 

Withal, while being dressed again, the crimson scratches decorating the neck, veiny arms dusted by thin dark hairs, broad shoulders and more than likely the wide shielding back attract attention with their clear presence. Fingertips trace the scars on the side of the throat, a concerned stone sinking in the stomach at the sensation of the upset ridges of which some still bleed. Mocha locks do not seem to notice the remorse, focused on tying the strings keeping the outfit together into a bow. ‘Do they hurt, Chris?’

‘What? The scratch marks?’ Concentration fades from the calculating aura of eyes when looking up, an oddly pleased though gentle smile forming when confirming the assumption with a nod. Tone, too, compliments the weird pride radiating off of the lover who merrily erases any traces of concern with a cheerful confession. ‘No. In fact, I’m actually quite proud of them.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I am!’ Following the outburst, timidity overtakes the tall barista to thus form a funny contrast to the fierceness that tried to convince the mistress raising a mocking eyebrow of being serious. The plush roseate bottom lip is nibbled on as enthusiasm is nullified to an ember. ‘This might sound stupid, but... I’m sick of other girls flirting with me. Even when I say I’m already taken.’

‘You already have a girlfriend?’ In an instant, the heart is struck by lightning and made to crack with a clear vision of the assumed deceit.

And yet blinded thanks to rash ignorant Judgment. 

‘I don’t!’ Wide eyes carry shock horror in them, though soften when recalling the explanation behind the outburst still has to be given. A calloused palm reminiscent of a romantic Italian holiday cups the cheek, kept in place by one’s own digits as the thumb gently caresses the skin with sincere affection. ‘Well, I- I do if you want to be mine. After all, after meeting you, I fancied you as the one of who I spoke each time I refused someone. And here comes the really stupid part.’ All haunting severity fades with an awkward boyish giggle almost reluctant to commit to another confession. ‘Each time you visited and it happened, I’d point at you and say that the beautiful girl by the window is mine.’

‘I never saw you do that.’ During previous visits, it had been each of us on our own or sitting down together with a bite and a drink while listening to music. Yet, the thought is flattering and certainly not uncredited since more than a professional bond of customer and barista exists, made meaningful with shows of bad days and birthdays.

The stuffed kangaroo was rewarded with a wolf plushie wearing a collar engraved with a familiar name and a personalized playlist.

As lovable as the adorable tender smile brightening the happiness on the handsome face always giving so much more than can be returned. ‘I didn’t want to make it obvious, of course. I only did it if you had your earbuds in or were occupied with reading or studying so you wouldn’t be paying attention to me.’

‘You can from now on,’ a chaste kiss on a big scrunched nose rewards the courage to once again bare oneself while hoping to gain the confirmation for the silent implication, ‘if you want.’

But, apparently, the human puppy needs a more explicit lead, gazing down in puzzlement. ‘So... you’re saying “yes”? To us?’

‘Yes.’ Arms reach over pale broad shoulders clad once more in black to entangle behind the neck and pull the lover into a tight cheerful embrace. Toes shuffle forward to lightly lean on bigger ones, indiscriminately claiming a little bit more of the sweet youth. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

The smothering answered hug loosens a bit when the barista tangibly tries to back away so talking is possible, affection and hope shining bright in espresso eyes dreaming of the future. ‘Also to occasionally help with running the café?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wear my clothes? Show everyone you’re mine?’ Voice lowers to a tone which makes it akin to wolfish purring, big nose nudging another while hinting at a kiss yet never fully connecting lips. Waists pressed against each other, connected hips suggestively move ever so slightly to assert the claim already established by colliding galaxies in earnest for the first time. ‘My territory?’

‘Yes.’ The sensual mirage evaporates as soon as the answer is given, hands fluttering from strong biceps to where the lover playfully nibbles on the skin of the throat in an attempt to stop the ticklish assault by pushing his face away. 

Successfully so, though the innocent coyness remains in the bright smile formed by pearly teeth and squinting lashes proposing a simple yet wonderful thing once again. ‘And to me bringing you home after really having had something to drink and eat?’

‘Yes, absolutely. But,’ actually pretty hungry fingertips trace the wolf’s cheekbones in a similar need for assurance that, as of now, there is more than friendship in each other’s company tonight and all the days to come, ’can you answer the same way when I ask you to sleep over?’

‘How many nights?’

‘As long as you want. Whenever you want.’

‘Yes.’ The rapid nod before a tender kiss is hastened by the craving of stating a binding statement. The promise to remain. ‘I’ll stay however long you want me to. Be your barista, your friend, your lover. Your Christopher.’

The man lovingly brewing two new cups of vanilla latte.

The lad keeping hands warm while waiting at the tracks, holding smaller ones between bigger palms after they have put on today’s beanie on the newfound love. 

And in the train on the way home, he is my boy at the station. 


End file.
